Making it Through
by VacheSoupe
Summary: Harry has found all the horcruxes but will he have the courage to face what lies ahead. This will be HPGW even though the first chapter only has Petunia.
1. Shade of Gray

Story: Making it Through 

Author: VacheSoupe, the writing cow

Angst/Drama

Summary: Harry has found all the horcruxes but will he have the courage to face what lies ahead.

AN: My first chapter is with Petunia because I rather like her and find her interesting.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize because there is not a single original idea on this planet. Song belongs to the Grateful Dead. Everything Harry Potter belongs to either Rowling or WB, not that it matters.

Must be getting early, clocks are running late.  
Paint my love a morning sky, it's all cold.  
Dawn is breaking everywhere, light a candle, curse the glare  
Draw the curtains I don't care, but it's all right  
I will get by, I will get by, I will get by, I will survive.

I see you've got your list out, say your piece and kiss off.  
Guess I get the gist of it, but it's all right  
Oh well anyway, sorry that you feel that way.  
Every silver linings got a touch of grey  
I will get by, I will get by, I will get by, I will survive.

It's a lesson to me, the ablers and the beggars and the thieves  
The abc's we all think of, try to win a little love.

I know the rent is in arrears, the dog has not been fed in years  
It's even worse than it appears, but it's all right

Cow is giving kerosene, kid can't read at seventeen  
The words he knows are all obscene, but it's all right  
I will get by, I will get by, I will get by, I will survive.

Shoe is on the hand that fits, that's all there really is to it  
Whistle through your teeth and spit, but it's all right

Oh well a touch of grey, kinda suits you anyway,  
That's all I had to say, but it's all right  
I will get by, I will get by, I will get by, I will survive.

It's a lesson to me, the devils and the east and the free  
The abc's we all must face, try to save a little grace.

Ch 1 Touch of Grey

Petunia had the house to herself. It wasn't uncommon these days. Vernon had taken to bringing Dudley out on camping trips to "discuss the business" and "do some father-son bonding." Petunia did not understand why her son had to grow up or why Vernon had to take him out to the middle of nowhere just to talk about the same things that they would normally talk about at home, which amounted to almost nothing.

It was not like Petunia minded her time alone. It was nice not having a twice daily clean up of the home. The rooms remained miraculously spotless while they where gone. With Vernon and Dudley gone, she did not need to shamefully hide her gossip magazines either. What she did not like was that her little Dudders was grown-up and working in the family business. That there would no longer be a chance to take a picture of him riding his tricycle or winning a wrestling match.

What unsettled Petunia even more was her late-sister's child, Harry. Yes, the scrawny, seedy, eighteen-year-old definitely threw her off her game. Always, alluding to a big "war" that could effect even normal, upstanding families like her own. Before he moved out last summer, he mentioned a dark wizard and to always be on alert. Not having her family in front of her beady eyes at all times made her uneasy, as if she could single-handedly take on any of those freaks that try to hurt her boys.

"The freak," thought Petunia. "It will be better if he gets himself blown up like his parents. Its not like he ever did us any good." She sighed and went out into the garden. Mr. and Mrs. Robertson were having another argument next door. If Anna Robertson left her husband today, Petunia will win the neighborhood's pool of 25 pounds.


	2. White Winged Dove

Story: Making it Through 

Author: Vache the talking, soup-eating cow

Angst/Drama

Summary: Harry has found all the horcruxes but will he have the courage to face what lies ahead.

AN: Ok now we are with Ginny and Harry, I think I will get a lot more reviews this way. Sorry for the extremely long delay, I was knitting an extremely long scarf (about 15 feet long.) Just kidding. Anyways, I suck at dialogue so sorry about pretty much the whole story. Then again George Lucus stinks at dialogue as well and Star Wars is an international best-selling cult-favorite.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize because there is not a single original idea on this planet. Song belongs to the Stevie Nicks. Everything Harry Potter belongs to either Rowling or WB, not that it matters.

_Just like the white winged dove...  
sings a song ...  
Sounds like she's singing...  
whoo...whoo...whoo  
Just like the white winged dove...  
sings a song...  
Sounds like she's singing...  
ooo...baby...ooo...said ooo_

_And the days go by...  
like a strand in the wind  
In the web that is my own...  
I begin again  
Said to my friend, baby...  
Nothin' else mattered_

_He was no more...than a baby then  
Well he... seemed broken hearted...  
something within him  
But the moment...that I first laid...  
Eyes...on...him...all alone...  
On the edge of...seventeen_

_Just like the white winged dove...  
sings a song ...  
Sounds like she's singing...  
whoo...whoo...whoo  
Just like the white winged dove...  
sings a song...  
Sounds like she's singing...  
ooo...baby...ooo...said ooo_

_I went today...maybe I will go again...  
tomorrow  
And the music there it was hauntingly...  
familiar  
And I see you doing...  
what I try to do for me  
With the words from a poet...  
and the voice from a choir  
And a melody...nothing else mattered_

_Just like the white winged dove...  
sings a song ...  
Sounds like she's singing...  
whoo...whoo...whoo  
Just like the white winged dove...  
sings a song...  
Sounds like she's singing...  
ooo...baby...ooo...said ooo_

_The clouds...never expect it...  
when it rains  
But the sea changes colours...  
but the sea...  
Does not change  
And so...with the slow...graceful flow..  
of age  
I went forth...with an age old...  
desire...to please  
On the edge of...seventeen_

_Just like the white winged dove...  
sings a song ...  
Sounds like she's singing...  
whoo...whoo...whoo  
Just like the white winged dove...  
sings a song...  
Sounds like she's singing...  
ooo...baby...ooo...said ooo_

_Well then suddenly...  
there was no one...left standing  
In the hall...yeah, yeah...  
In a flood of tears  
That no one really ever heard fall at all  
Oh I went searchin' for an answer...  
Up the stairs...and down the hall  
Not to find an answer...  
just to hear the call  
Of a nightbird...singing...  
come away...come away..._

_Just like the white winged dove...  
sings a song ...  
Sounds like she's singing...  
whoo...whoo...whoo  
Just like the white winged dove...  
sings a song...  
Sounds like she's singing...  
ooo...baby...ooo...said ooo_

_Well I hear you in the morning...  
and I hear you...  
At nightfall...  
sometime to be near you...  
Is to be unable...to hear you...  
my love...  
I'm a few years older than you...  
are (I'm a few years older than you) my love_

_Just like the white winged dove...  
sings a song...  
Sounds like she's singing...  
ooo baby...ooo...said ...(repeat)_

Ginny shouted a well-chosen spell at Nott and whipped her brow with her sleeve as she watched his fingers melt together into a pair of brilliant green fins. Good, one down only about a million to go. She sighed.

She knew that this was it. The fight that would end it all. Judgement day, when Harry or Voldemort would die. Ginny did not know how she knew this. Women's intuition did not cover it. She knew it as she knew she was breathing. There was no denying its validity.

Finally, Harry could get some peace. Ginny imagined Harry's life without all the responsibility and tension. After the war Harry would get married and have a big family, overcompensating for his own childhood probably. They would all have those brilliant green eyes and play outside without the fear of being cursed into smithereens. Harry's laugh would lose its dark bitterness. Would he walk straighter with the weight of the world taken off his shoulders?

Now, however, was not the time for thoughts of a future. If Ginny was not completely focused, if she could not find Voldemort, if she lost her courage and failed. No, she could not risk betraying hum again. When Harry received as much as a paper cut, she felt as though she had her own arm amputated. Renewed with determination, Ginny charged ahead weaving around dueling couples and ducking stray hexes.

**Flashback**

It was one of those spring days that surprise you. It was one of the first warm days of Ginny's fifth year. The sun was shining and it was not in the least bit windy. And, to make the day even more perfect, it was a homework free Saturday.

Ginny was under the tree by the lake, feeling Harry's chest move up and down as she leaned against him. She loved how close he was to her. His steady breath softly blowing her hair. His broom-callused hands gently caressing her skin. It was practically nirvana.

"After this is all over, what are you going to do?" she blurted before she could stop herself. Completely ruining the moment in her opinion.

Harry switched his gaze from her hair to the lake where he had seen his father all those years ago. It was sometime before he answered, but surprisingly he did. "I don't know. Never really thought about it. You know, after the war," His fingers absentmindedly strayed to his own mop of hair. "I guess be an auror. I mean that's what I'm good at. Its just, I've always wanted kids…"

"What would you name them?" Ginny asked intrigued.

"Never really thought it through much," Ginny understood, he was more concerned with making it through the week, "How about you?"

"A healer," she answered promptly, "I have a debt I need to pay to society. I was so close to killing all those people, so I guess I should work at fixing other people's injuries and mistakes. You know guilty conscience. But yeah, kids would be nice."

There was a comfortable silence then, "Ginny, you know last year, how you told me that I could talk to you about Voldemort, did you mean it?" she nodded her head. "I'm really scared. I mean Voldemort, he takes everyone and everything I care about. I keep looking over my shoulder trying to make sure I am still safe. I don't want to even want to talk to anyone, they might disappear and I would be alone again…"

Ginny understood. Words were dangerous. All the words she poured into that diary. They were artfully stolen from her. She was used. He tricked her, found her weaknesses and exploited them. She almost killed Harry all because she could not keep her big mouth shut. No, it was definitely better to be quiet. Don't let people in on what you are thinking or how much you care. Blend in. There is only a handful of trustworthy people in this world.

Harry broke her out of her reverie, "And Dumbledore says it will be me who has to kill him. No one else can. I feel like I am just waiting for my fate, to be struck down by Voldemort. I am just a sitting duck, with everyone waiting for me to do something that is impossible."

Ginny was surprised that Harry decided to share this with her. Yes, she knew that Harry was destined to be the one to kill He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but no one had really told her, she was not even aware that Harry knew his supposed future. Besides that, Harry chose to confide in her his feelings, not Hermione, not Ron, her.

"Harry," she laughed, "It's not impossible and no one is expecting you to do anything on your own. Its everyone's efforts that will kill him, not just the final blow. He doesn't matter what Dumbledore is telling you. He has been trying to tell me some prophecy about me for ages. It doesn't matter what some seer says. Prophecies are so unspecific that it could be about anyone at any time. It's our own choices that create our future, not some hocus-pocus and trances. Its all of our responsibility to stop the Dark Lord, not just yours." Reassured, Harry leaned in to kiss her on the lips. Those were the most logical, beautiful words he had ever heard.

AN Again: That was a long chapter (for me.) Don't expect it again. Love reviews. Flames make me cry because they prove I can never be a paperback writer, but send them anyway. I love how much effort goes into writing compliments and complaints. Usually I do not review so I understand if you don't.


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